Enough

When the mind slows
its spinning and toiling–
this is enough.
this arid ridgetop
speckled with mats of phlox
and dots of yellow balsamroot.
This southwest wind
running its fingers through stiff sagebrush.
This distant meadowlark trill.
This crumbled brown basalt
rough and sun-warmed under me.
This lichen crust, this insect
buzzing my ear then grabbed by the wind.
These clouds migrating north.
This mysterious world,
this very moment,
this opening heart,
this breath slipping in and out
this breath